


A Certain Kind of Comfort

by Comicsohwhyohwhy, laireshi



Category: Iron Man (Comic), Marvel 616
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Civil War II, Evil Steve, Hydra Steve Rogers, M/M, Not A Fix-It
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 13:25:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7575676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Comicsohwhyohwhy/pseuds/Comicsohwhyohwhy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/laireshi/pseuds/laireshi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Do you want to sit?” Steve indicates the sofa, but Tony doesn’t want to sit, he’s almost shaking with nervous energy. </p>
<p>And he can’t hold it in any longer. "Steve—nothing's right, it's my fault, I—"</p>
<p>"Is that it?” Steve looks considering. His expression changes, too fast for Tony to identify, and then he looks calm as ever—calm and <i>cold</i>. “Is that what you came here to tell me?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Certain Kind of Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> This was fun and we're both very evil.
> 
> Marvel has announced [Civil War II: The Oath](http://www.comicbookresources.com/article/sdcc-spencer-swears-civil-war-ii-oath-will-change-entire-marvel-universe), sort of an epilogue to the event. This is our take on it.

Tony’s not sure what he’s doing there, in front of Steve’s apartment. He should deal with his mess on his own, but he _can’t_ , and Steve—Steve was his friend, once, Steve should at least listen to him.

(He wants to see Steve, because Steve always inspired the best in him. Because he hopes Steve will be kind. Because—because Tony is pathetic.)

Steve opens his door quickly, almost as if he’s been waiting for a visit—but that’s impossible. And Tony isn’t there to dwell on that, really.

“Tony?” Steve seems worried. He stands aside to let Tony in and closes the door as Tony stops in the middle of the living room, not knowing what to do with himself, his hands, his _thoughts_.

“Do you want to sit?” Steve indicates the sofa, but Tony doesn’t want to sit, he’s almost shaking with nervous energy. 

And he can’t hold it in any longer. "Steve—nothing's right, it's my fault, I—"

"Is that it?” Steve looks considering. His expression changes, too fast for Tony to identify, and then he looks calm as ever—calm and _cold_. “Is that what you came here to tell me?”

Tony nods helplessly. He doesn’t know what Steve expects of him. There’s a pause in which Steve just _looks_ at Tony. It’s unnerving. Then Steve says, almost like he’s bored, "Yes, it’s your fault. Of course it is.”

Tony's not sure why he expected to hear something else. He knows it's his fault, he does—but—

Before Tony can get his bearings, Steve raises his voice, his eyes now boring into Tony’s. "You are out of control, Tony. Your actions were rash and led to this war. You tore the superhero community apart _twice_. I can't believe you did it _again_. The world is better off without Iron Man."

Tony can’t breathe. It’s all true, every word Steve says—Captain America doesn’t lie—but it still hurts, like a twisted knife.

Steve keeps on talking, relentlessly. His voice is cold and clipped. "You killed me once. Now you killed Rhodes and Banner. And you still think you deserve to call yourself a hero?"

And _of course_ Tony doesn't consider himself a hero, he knows this, he knows _all of this_ and he opens his mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. He feels tears slide down his cheeks. Shame is burning in his gut—he can’t even hear the truth without breaking down.

Steve's eyes are merciless as his voice continues,"You are weak, Tony. You’re a liability. You betray your friends and get them killed. With you in charge, everything goes to hell. Have you learnt it, now? Can you finally see it?"

Steve knows this better than most, Tony thinks numbly. Tony's betrayed him so many times. Really, it’s a miracle Steve’s only saying it now. (But he didn’t think Steve would ever say it, not like that, not in words that burn Tony like cold fire). 

"Why are you here, Tony? Did you expect me to coddle you, to lie and tell you everything would be alright?" Steve asks, finally.

Tony doesn’t know what to say. He wants—he wanted a friend, really. But Steve deserves better than that. Better than a man who got him killed, who lied and used him for months.

"I—" Tony starts to say and doesn’t know how to finish it. He looks down. He should never have come.

“Tell me, Tony. Did you come because we are friends?” Steve asks, and Tony, surprised, can only nod. He looks at Steve, suddenly hopeful again—maybe it meant something, maybe Steve would help. Maybe his behaviour from before had been some sort of cruel joke. It wasn’t like Steve, but then, Steve, like everyone else, has all the reason to be annoyed at Tony. Tony couldn’t blame him for snapping.

Steve’s voice is very calm as he says, "Everyone would be better off without you, Tony."

Not just Iron Man, Tony thinks. _Him_. He can't even disagree. 

Tony takes in a deep shuddering breath, wipes his cheek with a trembling hand and turns to go, because there's nothing left for him here, is there? Numbly, he walks towards the door when there's a hand on his shoulder.

He flinches, but it's only Steve, of course, and Steve would _never_ hurt him.

There's a smile on Steve's face that turns sharp at the edges.

Tony can't stop himself from tensing as Steve speaks, "Wait, I've got something for you. To congratulate you on all you've done of late." Steve holds up a bottle of wine and Tony feels his breath stutter in his chest.

"I don't drink," Tony whispers, because it's the last thread holding him whole. He didn't drink after Rhodey died, not after Bruce, not after everything else went to hell—he can't—

It didn't _go to hell_ on its own. It was his fault, and his alone.

"Don't you?" Steve tilts his head. "You're a drunk, Tony, you always say so. This is what you do. I even picked your favourite."

Tony looks at the label, and he can't really read through the tears, but he recognises it: the same brand he'd drunk for Odin. 

Maybe Steve's right. Maybe it's all Tony knows how to do.

"Stop pretending you're above this, Tony. Crawl back into the bottle. The world was better off when that was where you stayed."

There's a tiny voice in Tony's head telling him that this is off, Steve would never—but Tony knows he's only trying to make himself feel better, because of course Steve would tell him those things, because they were true, because Steve knew that Tony had to stop pretending to be hero. He has fucked up enough as it is.

Tony raises his hand and Steve's smile looks almost predatory as his fingers close around the cold glass of the bottle. 

_I should smash it_ , Tony thinks reflexively. He'd be better off with the shards.

"I even opened it for you." Steve's voice is almost sweet now. And he's right, Tony craves the relief, the fuzziness in his head that the alcohol would give him.

_He doesn't want to care anymore_.

Slowly, so very slowly, Tony raises the bottle to his lips. As the first bitter drops touch his skin, he shudders and tries to lower it again.

But there's a weight on it, unyielding, and he sees Steve tilting the bottle even further until the wine runs down Tony's throat.

_It's wrong_.

But Steve's still holding the bottle to his lips, and Tony has no choice but to swallow, until it feels right, until he remembers how easy it's always been.

Steve lets the bottle go, and Tony catches it and drinks a few sips more; has troubles stopping already. 

"Isn't that better?" Steve asks.

_Steve would never_ , Tony thinks again, but his mind is getting clouded, and if he thinks it's too soon, it's just wine—but he had a long break. He was so stupid. He should've frozen to death ages ago.

(He remembers fire, and a hotel, he remembers holding a bottle as if his life depended on it, and Steve hitting him, and he knows this is right. This is Steve, taking care of everyone else, making sure Tony won't hurt them anymore—taking care of Tony. Finally giving him what he’d always wanted.)

Tony can't speak. He just nods.

_It’s for the best_ , he thinks. _For everyone._ Tony should thank Steve, really. But he can’t look at Steve again.

He clutches the bottle to his chest, and unsteadily, leaning on the walls, walks out of the flat. Steve doesn’t stop him. Doesn’t ask if he’s fine.

It’s only when Tony’s a few steps out that he hears the locks closing.

Tony hopes Steve will tell the others to lock him out too. He deserves nothing but the bottle. 

He won’t hurt anyone ever again.


End file.
